Electra Complex
by Spasgo
Summary: Romano seeks out what he can't have through Spain. Warnings: Sex, implied incestuous urges, and human names used


Lovino face was shoved so far into the pillow it was starting to asphyxiate him. The lack of air to his brain only intensified the feeling of the man's deep thrust behind him. His body pulsated with undefeatable electricity. The man hit that bundle of nerves inside of him again that sent him into animalistic pants, his originally olive knuckles turning white when they start kneading the sheets. Stars behind his eyes, mouth full of cotton, his moans became whimpers as the headboard hit the wall with a loud thump.

"Hmphh—please, don't stop—"He choked out into the pillow. He knees buckling beneath him as he spread his legs further. He thought he was just going to collapse, his body was limp and lithe. Large, calloused hands held him up by his hips as he continued to pound into the tight heat of the core of the younger man.

He thrust back against the man's girth and foreword against the bed sheets for some much needed friction between his legs, all the while panting and curling his toes in bliss. "Aye—Aye—faster—"

And the man behind him complied wholeheartedly. His swift thrusts became increasingly hastier and off tempo. Despite the lack of rhythm, he still managed to slam into the younger man's spot over and over again. "Non… Aye—Non—"

His raspy pants and quivering voice mewled well with the banging of the wooden headboard against the wall creating a euphoric harmony. The man behind him deepened his quick thrusts, pausing against the spot inside Lovino that was sending him into such a fit. His little toes curled as his fingers tightened around the sheets again.

His body shook from the inside, as he rippled through his climax. As his walls tightened around the arousal of the other man, he shouted "Nonno!" through his pants and moans. His grip on his pillow muffled his continuing panting of that name—that endearing Italian term.

He said it again in whispers as his face collided with the pillow and he just let his body take control. Sweat filmed his freckled, olive skin as his every digit and every nerve became hypersensitive. "Nonno—"He couldn't bite his tongue even if he tried, the poisonous word just slithered its way out of his lustrous mouth.

When he finally came down from his high, blood clouded his skull. He hadn't felt the man behind him finish before he pulled out. Truth be told, he had been so caught up in his own bliss that the realization of what he just did was just catching up with him. He rolled over onto his back and pushed his sweaty bangs out of his face.

"Antonio—wait—"He caught the man zipping up his jeans with a look of absolute detest on his face. His dark russet hair was out of place but the natural bed-head only flattered his sculpted features. The Spaniard didn't look his way when he pulled his grey t-shirt over his shoulders. He didn't look at him until he was fully clothed, car keys in hand.

He gave pathetic little Lovino a blank look while letting out a sigh and shaking his head. "Lovino, mi amor, I think you have some issues you need to work out, no?" He stepped closer to the younger man and pet down his head like he was a dog.

In some ways, he felt like one.

Antonio shifted towards the door as Lovino wrapped himself in the wet, soiled sheets and chased after his lover. "Lo siento, Antonio." He mumbled, hoping his native tongue would strike something within the Spaniard. Antonio's shoulders hunched as he stomped down the stairs. "Don't leave, Antonio—"

"Lovino—"He said his name louder and more sternly than he had anticipated and the younger man's eyes went wide with trauma. He placed a calm, sturdy hand on his shoulder before looking the young man in the eyes, "I am here for you. I want to help you get over this—obsession, that you seem to have with your grandfather, but I can't help you as a lover. Lo siento, Lovino."

Lovino slumped to the floor tangled in his bed sheets like the Pieta although his Messiah had just dashed out the front door and he could hear the boisterous tone of his engine just outside. He slammed the back of his cranium against the wall, cursing everything and everything. He clawed at his sweet, freckled skin, ripping away the filth that man—that old bastard of a man—left on him.

He cursed Antonio for looking so much like his deceased grandfather—the same skin, hair, sweet Earthy smell.

He cursed Antonio for leaving him to wallow in his own guilt, to slash at his tongue and stab at his heart.

But most of all he cursed that dreadful old man, for poisoning his thoughts.

A/N: An Electra Complex is not an exact parallel to an Oedipus Complex but there are a lot of similarities between them so I felt like implying that Romano has one in this story was justifiable. Technically, an Electra Complex focuses more on a hatred for the mother because the mother denied something to the girl (aka a penis considering this technically applies to girls) thus these 'girls' seek out what they are missing. I use this lightly, Romano does not have an Electra Complex in this way, rather he longs for his grandfather's attention so much that he seeks out sexual partners who resemble him.

Spain, perhaps.

Or if you want to make me happy—Turkey

I'm done rambling


End file.
